


Mac Grows Up

by glennjaminhow



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Angst, Anxiety Disorder, Borderline Personality Disorder, Catholic Guilt, Child Neglect, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Codependency, Dennis explains what happened in North Dakota, Depression, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Mental Health Issues, No Fluff, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-12
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-08-21 20:11:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16583315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glennjaminhow/pseuds/glennjaminhow
Summary: "There’s blood dripping into his eyes. He doesn’t cry. Charlie does, though, screaming that Ronnie looks like a monster, like Charlie’s Uncle Jack lurking in the night, and Ronnie makes Charlie sit on the curb while specks of blood drip on his shorts. He makes Charlie count to ten – no easy feat for him – until he’s breathing more better."





	Mac Grows Up

He’s five when Daddy goes to jail. It’s this place where Daddy’ll learn to be better, that it’s alright to just be here because that’s where Ronnie is, so he can play catch with him later. Mommy blows cigarette smoke in his face when he stands at the window, hands splayed out on the glass smeared with greasy fingerprints, and watches the policemen put handcuffs on his wrists. He’s five, and he’s seen this before – two or six times, actually – and knows what to expect. He goes to bed that night with a sick tummy; he asks Mommy if he can sleep with her because, really, Ronnie kinda doesn’t like the dark, and Daddy isn’t around to keep the monsters away like he should be. Mommy slams the door in his face. He’s five and goes to bed with the blankets clutched in his grasps, wearily staring at his half-open closet with the murderous clown inside it.

The day Ronnie turns seven, one cloudy, breezy day in mid-April, his best buddy Charlie gives him a rock as a present. It’s a good rock. A great rock, actually. He names it Karate Master 5000, and he lets Charlie paint it blue and green and red and black because those are the manliest colors he can think of. Ronnie’s a man now that he’s seven. He’s seven, and Dad is still in jail, and his mom works, like, all the time so she can give Ronnie a good life. She’s a good mom, he guesses. But Mom doesn’t remember his birthday, that he’s seven and a man now, and she doesn’t get Ronnie a single present or even a slice of cake. Instead, Charlie sings 'happy birthday' and gives him a Hostess cupcake from his lunchbox and lights it on fire; Ronnie wishes for a better birthday next year.

Ronnie’s eight, and he falls off his rusty bike, slamming his head against the scalding July pavement below. There’s blood dripping into his eyes. He doesn’t cry. Charlie does, though, screaming that Ronnie looks like a monster, like Charlie’s Uncle Jack lurking in the night, and Ronnie makes Charlie sit on the curb while specks of blood drip on his shorts. He makes Charlie count to ten – no easy feat for him – until he’s breathing more better. Ronnie rides home on his now jacked up bike. Mom isn’t home, and Dad’s gone, so no one asks him questions about his busted forehead. He’s eight, Ronnie cleans and bandages it himself. It scars, but it’s cool because scars are badass.

When he’s eleven, Dad gets released from jail on probation, which basically means he can’t screw up or else he’ll end up back in the joint. Ronnie cleans the house, scrubbing the floors and doing all the laundry he can wrangle, bouncing nervously; he hasn’t seen Dad in six years. Dad looks like the same when Ronnie sees him. He’s eleven, and Ronnie goes in for a hug, but Dad shoves him away, hard in the chest, and Ronnie cries into his pillow when they return home. He tries not to since men don’t cry, but tears leak out of his eyes no matter how many times he tells them to stop.

Ronnie is twelve when Dad goes back to prison for violating parole. He doesn’t think about it – the fact that he’s fatherless. He sneaks into Mom’s liquor cabinet and steals some vodka. He splits it with Charlie. Ronnie’s twelve and thought it would be gross, but it goes down easily and swallows his worries whole, and soon he and Charlie are sprawled out on Mac’s living room floor, staring up at the ceiling and seeing stars. Mom comes home, and Ronnie hides the vodka, and Charlie sleeps under Ronnie’s bed that night, like he’s done many times before.

He’s thirteen, and suddenly everyone at school is dating each other. He isn’t sure he likes anyone. Girls are gross. Guys aren’t that much better. He knows he’s supposed to feel something for girls and, like, bang them or kiss them or something, but he gets queasy just thinking about it. He’s 13, and he has his first kiss under the bleachers; it isn’t with a girl. It’s with Charlie. He’s thirteen, and they practice kissing because it’s important, a skill Ronnie knows he’ll need soon.

Mac – formerly Ronnie – is fifteen, and he’s the only drug dealer on his high school campus. He ratted the others out, gained an advantage in this growing economy. Everyone calls him ‘Ronnie the Rat,’ but they just don’t understand. Charlie’s the only one who gets it, and he’s Mac’s best friend, so he isn’t sure how much that means. He wants people to like him; that’s why he has this sweet ass bike he stole, the drugs, and the awesome leather jacket. He’s cool. He’s tough. Everyone else is just jealous. He’s fifteen, and he gets drunk or high with Charlie every night.

He’s sixteen when he starts hanging out with Dennis Reynolds, the kid who got raped in the library a couple years back. Dennis is weird and angry as shit, but he’s rich and has great clothes, and Mac likes that. They hang by the dumpster or under the bleachers before first period and smoke. Dennis hides his arms with sleeves, even during blazing hot days, but Mac doesn’t ask about it, just like Dennis doesn’t ask where Mac’s parents are or why he’s failing every class. He feels different when he’s around Dennis, like he’s really just one of the guys after all.

The day he turns seventeen, he’s in Dennis’ basement, smoking from a sick, big ass bong and watching MTV. They’re skipping, and Dennis isn’t talking that much, but that’s okay because Mac fills in the gaps for him. They listen to Red Hot Chili Peppers on the stereo. They drink a case of fancy beer. They take a long ass nap on the couch, kinda squished together to where Mac wakes up with his head on Dennis’ chest; it’s the best Mac’s slept in years. He’s seventeen, and Dennis is his best friend, and they’re inseparable. They just get each other. Mac’s grateful for that.

He’s eighteen and barely graduates high school. He and Charlie just barely pass their classes, and they only do so because Dennis lets them copy his homework almost everyday. Unlike Dennis, Mac doesn’t get a brand new car. He doesn’t get shit. Mom doesn’t even show up for graduation, so Mac parties at the Reynolds’ house with Dennis, Charlie, and Dennis’ bird of a twin sister Dee. He’s eighteen, and his life is about to really change because Dennis is going to Penn, and it’s like losing a limb. They spend the entire summer together; Mac basically moves into Dennis’ house. They sleep tangled up in each other. They maybe kiss some, but just a little. Not enough to mean anything. He’s eighteen, and Dennis leaves, and Mac’s never felt emptier, lonelier.

Nineteen through twenty-two, the years Dennis is away at school, don’t go too well. He works construction jobs during the warmer months and switches to being a waiter when winter comes along. He works. He sleeps. He drinks. He smokes. He hangs with Charlie. Mac doesn’t have money, so Dennis usually sends him some to come visit, but it’s hard, and Mac doesn’t know what to feel, so he spends the money on his supply. He doesn’t really see Dennis those four years. He’s nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two, and nothing feels right, and he’s not sure how to feel because there’s something weird brewing inside of him, and he doesn’t like it.

He’s twenty-four when Dennis, after over a year of being back in Philly after graduating college with a degree in veterinary science he has yet to use, asks Mac to move in with him. Dennis, after a year of near radio silence, emerges from the sludge, too skinny and skin carved to shit. Mac doesn’t ask. He isn’t sure he wants to know. Mac is happy because he can’t stand living with Mom anymore, so of course he agrees immediately. Mac is twenty-four and living with his best friend, celebrating with booze and blunts and bumping uglies on Dennis’ expensive, imported leather couch. It’s the most Mac’s felt, really felt, in years.

Mac is twenty-five, and he, Dennis, and Charlie buy a bar. Really, though, Dennis kinda buys it, but he’s rich as shit, so Mac doesn’t feel bad. It’s this old place in South Philly, right where Mac feels most comfortable. They drink endlessly at the bar for free, and it’s great. Dennis hires his sister Dee as a waitress because she’s fucking pathetic and didn’t make it through college like Dennis did. Mac’s proud of Dennis. He’s twenty-five, and Paddy’s Pub lives and breathes, filling Mac with some form of purpose, like this is God’s grand plan for him.

Twenty-six, twenty-seven, and twenty-eight are scary. Mac isn’t concerned about himself. No, it’s Dennis that’s freaking the shit out of him. Mac finds him unresponsive in his bed night after night, shivering and mumbling to no one. He doesn’t eat for days at a time. He hits Mac in the chest and jaw, tells him to get the fuck out, to leave him the fuck alone, and Mac calls him fucking crazy. Mac screams at him over and over again until he’s blue in the face. Once Mac tires himself out, he leaves, but then he comes back. He always comes back. Dennis has burns or cuts on him by this time, and Mac bandages them and doesn’t ask.

By the time he’s twenty-nine, Mac is more lost than ever. Paddy’s is doing super shitty, like shittier than Mac ever thought possible. Charlie’s going even further off the deep end. Dee’s annoying as shit. Frank, Dennis and Dee’s father-not-father, joins the gang and pays for stuff, but it isn’t enough to make Dennis more better. Dennis, who is controlling every single aspect of Mac’s life because he can. Dennis, who had several panic attacks when Mac spent the night at Charlie’s yesterday without checking in. Dennis isn’t his keeper, but Mac is Dennis’ keeper. He finds Dennis delirious and rambling under his bed the next day and vows to help. He’s twenty-nine and suddenly taking care of another dude full time. He’s twenty-nine and doesn’t have a life because he’s too busy babysitting Dennis, who doesn’t eat unless Mac shoves food at him and who doesn’t sleep unless Mac is spooned up behind him at night.

He’s thirty, and it’s okay because he loves Dennis.

But then he’s thirty-one, and Dennis gets married to Maureen fucking Ponderosa; he divorces her, like, the next day. Mac is thirty-one, and he starts fooling around with Dennis all the time again. He keeps drinking and smoking and getting high. He tries to be happy, to find peace or absolution, but Dennis needs help with fucking everything, and it’s annoying as shit. But Mac does it anyway because he loves Dennis. He loves Dennis. But Dennis is scary, always shouting when he doesn’t want to and shutting down when it’s too much. Mac holds him tightly because he can’t be trusted on his own. He’s thirty-one and kisses his roommate’s tears away every night.

He’s thirty-five and straight as an arrow, so what if he and Dennis still fuck around? So what if Dennis sucks him off before they go to sleep, whispering ‘sleep tight, baby boy’ into the open air? So what if Mac keeps lube on the bedside table just in case? So what if it’s the best and worst Mac’s ever felt in his entire life? He wants Dennis. He wants to touch Dennis, feel his lips on his, to have his dick in… Fuck. No. Fuck. He isn’t fucking gay, and that sounds gay as shit.

Mac is thirty-six and can’t stop. He can’t stop this. He can’t leave or destroy what he has with Dennis because Dennis is his lifeline. He has no one else. But Dennis hurts his feelings and makes him feel small, but Dennis also does things like kissing him when he cries. Dennis quit smoking cigarettes for Mac because Mac was worried about lung cancer. How can he abandon a drug stronger than weed or alcohol or crack or heroin? He can’t. He’s reminded, very late at night, when Dennis is wrapped in his arms, bundled and snoring, that someone is there.

He’s thirty-seven, and his and Dennis’ apartment is destroyed by flames after a squashing beefs incident gone wrong. He’s thirty-seven and misses home. He’s thirty-seven, and he and Dennis share a sleeping bag on Dee’s floor. He’s thirty-seven, and Dennis plugs his ears when Mac talks because there’s too much light and too many cars and too much sound coming from everywhere and nowhere. He’s thirty-seven, and Mac brushes his fingers through Dennis’ hair, trying to sooth his nerves even though his heart hurts too. He’s thirty-seven and slings an arm around Dennis’ tiny waist and tugs him closer, until their chests are flushed together, foreheads touching. He’s thirty-seven, and he rubs Dennis’ back with one hand, fingers sliding gently up and down his spine. He’s thirty-seven, and Dennis hides his face in his chest, tears pooling on his t-shirt. He’s thirty-seven and rocking another thirty-seven year old to sleep. He’s thirty-seven and can’t be in love with his best friend. He’s thirty-seven, and he decides this can’t happen.

Mac is thirty-eight, and, shit, it keeps happening. Even though they have next to no privacy, Dennis finds ways to kiss him. They hold hands sometimes. They hump. They bang on a few occasions. He's thirty-eight, and it's so overwhelming because Mac knows he totally isn't gay, but this - whatever it is - seems super fucking gay, and he gets sick to his stomach if he thinks about it too much. But, still, there's this thing - happiness - gnawing through his bones like an overly eager dog. He wants to make Dennis proud. He wants Dennis to know that he loves him. Not in that way. But as a friend. But Mac knows friends don't do this. Mac's thirty-eight and is living in such a state of denial that it's permanent like scar tissue or the tattoos etched on his skin.

When he's thirty-nine, Mac snaps the denial straight in half. He's gay. He's gay. He can't hide from himself anymore. He can't hide from Dennis anymore. He knows it's the right thing to do because it makes him feel so much more better about himself, about who he really is. For once, Mac acknowledges that he's a person capable of being happy. But Dennis isn't exactly happy for him. No, Dennis kinda pushes him away once Mac comes out, and Mac tries to pretend like it doesn't hurt. He's thirty-nine and gay, and he almost dies every time Dennis shrugs away Mac's touches. He's thirty-nine and gay, and he and Dennis do not fool around or make out or hump or do literally anything that used to make them happy, that used to make Mac happy. He's thirty-nine and gay when Dennis leaves to raise a kid Mac isn't even sure is actually Dennis'. Mac's thirty-nine and gay, and he gives Dennis a rocket launcher on Valentine's Day because he wants to show Dennis how much he loves him, how much he wants them to get back to where they were, how much he misses him. It's not just the touching or kissing; it's everything. Mac misses Dennis, whether he's here in Philly or far away in Who Gives a Fucksville, North Dakota.

He's forty, and Dennis doesn't answer phone calls or text messages. Dennis pretends Mac doesn't exist. Dennis pretends that nothing ever happened between them. Mac is forty and doesn't move on.

That is, until he's given no choice to.

He can't deal with Dennis' shit anymore. It hurts. He doesn't like it. He's constantly torn between wondering if Dennis even likes him to wondering if Dennis wants to cuddle at nighttime in their newly finished apartment while no one's looking. He doesn't want to live a lie. Mac's forty-one and has lived a lie his entire life. He likes dudes, so what? Dudes are way better than roast beef and roadkill; he shudders just thinking about it. Dennis is nothing like roast beef or roadkill, but Dennis is also a bastard man who abandoned Mac and now no longer wants Mac to touch him period, despite everything they've done together and everything they've went through.

But Dee told him something happened in North Dakota. Something she can’t talk about. It hurts that Dennis talked to Dee over him. It hurts that Dennis left in the first place, but maybe it wouldn’t have been so awful if Dennis just answered the phone or texted him. Mac would’ve dropped everything. He’s done it before. He’ll do it again. But not now. It’s too hard right now.

It fucking sucks.

 

* * *

 

 

“Fuck me,” is the first thing he hears when he opens the door.

He swears to God it isn’t even real at first.

But Dennis is lying down on the couch in plaid boxers and thick grey socks and one of Mac’s hoodies that swallows him entirely. He looks sick. Purple bruises under his eyes. Cheeks flushed. Lips chapped and red. Mac almost cries on the spot again because, Jesus Christ, this seriously cannot be happening.

“Fuck me, Mac,” Dennis whispers.

Mac can’t think. This isn’t happening. This isn’t happening.

“No,” he says.

Dennis frowns. “Why not?”

“Christ, are you fucking serious right now?”

Dennis swings his legs over the side of the couch. He stands, wavering uneasily before sitting back down. “You know you want to,” he says, surprisingly strong and punctuated considering Mac thinks he just almost passed out, but he’s too focused on what Dennis fucking said to him, demanded of him, to care.

“I’m not gonna fuck you, Dennis.”

“But you want to though, right?”

He can’t breathe. He can’t see. He can’t hear. He can’t do this.

Dennis is... Dennis can’t just... He can’t.

“No, I don’t wanna fuck you, dude,” he spits out. “Go... Go take a nap or something. You look disgusting.”

Dennis messes with the scraggy strings of Mac’s hoodie. “I look disgusting?” he whispers, voice at least two octaves more higher than usual. “I look disgusting? I look disgusting?”

“You have a lotta nerve asking me to fuck you, Dennis,” Mac says, regardless of Dennis mutterings and mumblings. “Remember what you said a few weeks ago. ‘Time’s up, Mac.’ Now you’re wanting me to bone you? Right after you didn’t want me to touch you anymore whatsoever? How the fuck is that fair?”

“It isn’t fair,” Dennis says quietly, roughly, ghostly, like he isn’t even really here.

“What the hell is going on with you, man?” Mac asks.

Dennis chuckles and dissolves into the couch. He stares up at the ceiling. “Nothing. I’m perfectly fine.”

“Bullshit,” Mac spits out.

“Fine. Don’t believe me. I don’t care.”

“Jesus fucking Christ. Did you stop taking your meds or some shit? Because you’re crazier than I ever remember you being, and that’s saying, like, a lot, dude.”

Dennis blinks. Dennis picks at a fraying end of Mac’s hoodie string. Dennis breathes. He shows all the signs of being alive, but Mac isn’t sure he is.

“This is fucking important, Dennis!” Mac exclaims once it becomes obvious Dennis isn’t going to talk. “Did you stop taking your meds?”

No response.

Anger races up Mac’s spine.

He clenches his jaw.

“You can’t just stop taking your meds! What the fuck were you thinking?”

“They made me miserable,” Dennis says, clearly and coherently, which is pretty surprising.

“Yeah? Well you make me miserable! So man the fuck up and take them!”

“No.”

Mac could so cry right now. He’s that frustrated and scared. “What do you mean ‘no?’”

“I’m not gonna take them anymore,” Dennis states.

“What? Do you have any idea how nuts you sound right now, bro? You have to take them. Your doctor gave them to you for a reason. You have to take them.”

“Repeating yourself isn’t gonna help,” Dennis tells him. “You’re not the boss of me anyway.”

Mac paces back and forth with his hands on his hips. Jesus Christ. Holy fuck. What is happening right now?

“What the fuck, dude? You sound like you’re five,” Mac spits out. “You know what? I can’t do this anymore.”

Dennis chuckles again, lower and quieter. “Yeah. Me either,” he whispers.

He tried. He tried so hard to comfort Dennis, to build his life with Dennis instead of around him, but it’ll never be enough. Dennis is volatile and dangerous. Dennis is manipulative and cunning. Dennis doesn’t care about anyone other than himself. Mac feels a pang of sympathy or some shit because Dennis is sick and off his meds and isn’t eating, but none of that is his problem anymore. Mac has given Dennis everything he can.

"I gotta get outta here for a bit, man. Just... Take..." Mac cuts himself off, frowning. "Whatever, dude."

Dennis doesn’t say a word. Mac walks out the door.

 

* * *

 

He ends up at Charlie and Frank’s place. Frank’s banging Artemis in a Wendy’s dumpster again, whatever the fuck that means, so he and Charlie are chilling on the couch. Mac doesn’t want ringworm or cancer or any other diseases, so he cleans and disinfects it first. But now that the sofa is at least somewhat safe, he smokes the weed Charlie stashed in a cookie jar.

He’s never really surprised by Charlie or what he does or doesn’t do. That’s part of what Mac likes about him so much. Charlie is just Charlie. He is who he is without trying to change it, unless it’s for a scheme, then he’s the first to wear costumes. Charlie is nothing like Dennis. While he isn’t exactly ‘stable,’ he’s certainly much more stable than Dennis.

“I don’t get it,” Charlie says after inhaling another hit.

Mac huffs and almost screams. He’s so fucking frustrated. “What’s there to get, dude?”

“We found three!” he screams. “Three! That’s, like, three more than anyone else has ever seen!”

“No one else has seen them because they don’t exist!” Mac points out.

Charlie rolls his eyes. “Yeah, right, dude. Don’t forget about what happened last Mac Day. We totally found some in the sewers.”

“Jesus Christ,” Mac mumbles. “I don’t understand how we’re still talking about ghouls.”

“Because they’re real.”

“They aren’t real!”

Charlie instantly flips his lid, reaching over hastily and wrapping his hands around Mac’s neck, pressing his fingertips against Mac’s windpipe. “Yes they are!”

He lets go. Mac doesn’t breathe out a sigh of relief.

He feels sick.

“Is this about Dennis?” Charlie asks softly.

“Is what about Dennis?”

“You miss him,” Charlie clarifies, making an alarming amount of sense for someone high as a… watermelon? Nope, that’s not it. “You should check on him.”

Mac scoffs. “Yeah right. He’s a grown man. He can take care of himself.”

And Mac almost throws up right on the spot when Charlie inhales sharply and flinches just a little bit.

“I dunno ‘bout that, man. Dennis used to come over here a lot. He was always really upset, and it freaked me out.”

“What do you mean? He used to come over here? To do what?”

Charlie shrugs from beside him. “Dunno. We’d just huff glue or some shit. He’d calm down, but I’m pretty sure that’s just because he was high as a watermelon.”

What the fuck? What the actual fuck? Mac didn’t even know Dennis hung out with Charlie, much less when it’s just the two of them. Dennis and Charlie are weird together. It doesn’t quite sync up, not like Mac and Dennis or Mac and Charlie. But why would Dennis choose Charlie over him? Mac’s there for every-fucking-thing Dennis could ever want or need. Mac tries so fucking hard, and look at where it’s gotten him. Fucking nowhere.

“B-But why you?” Mac splutters out.

“He talked about Ms. Klinsky sometimes,” Charlie whispers. “He didn’t want you to know about it.”

“But why?” he asks, voice raising along with his heartbeat. “Why wouldn’t he want to talk to me?”

Charlie frowns. “He didn’t want you to think differently of him.”

“Because he was raped?”

“Yeah.”

“It wasn’t his fault! He was a kid!”

“So? It’s still, like, really personal and shit,” Charlie reasons.

Mac gets to his feet. He pulls on his leather jacket. He’s too high to deal with this shit, but he has to. He has to. He has to.

“He talked to you about it, Charlie! Don’t you get that? I’ve given that dude everything I’ve ever had, and he can’t even fucking talk to me!”

Mac walks out. Mac slams the door. Mac screams as soon as he’s outside.

 

* * *

 

Deep breath.

He can do this. He can do this.

Mac unlocks the door to the apartment as quietly as possible. He doesn’t know why. He wants to talk to Dennis – to confront him about his shit. But he’s also painfully aware that he may be walking in on something he doesn’t want to see. Walking in – walking into his home – is like strolling through a graveyard. It’s hauntingly silent like a tomb. Mac wonders if Dennis is dead.

There’s zero evidence Dennis has left, but there’s also zero evidence that he hasn’t. Everything is right where Mac left it, from his pride mug in the sink to his protein powder on the coffee table to the Hawaiian shirt Mac almost wore five days ago but then decided against it.

Fuck.

Deep breath.

Mac knocks on Dennis’ bedroom door. Waits for a response.

There isn’t one.

He puts his hand on the knob and almost faints. His heart is heavy with dread and misery.

Dennis is in bed. There's an empty bottle of whiskey by his pillow. A lighter on the bedside table. Mac gulps and scrubs a hand over his face, tears stinging his eyes even though he swore he wouldn’t get emotion about this. Dennis is snoring loudly, just like he always does, but his breathing sounds foggy and ghostly, like he’s already dead. Mac watches the rise and fall of his chest and wonders if he’s even really still in there.

There are shards of glass on the floor. Mac identifies the shattered bathroom mirror. Patches and streaks of blood in the sink and even on the walls.

Should he feel guilty? Did he drive Dennis to do this to himself?

Dennis has been doing this to himself for years. Why can’t Mac feel something about it?

What the fuck is wrong with him?

"Thought you left?" Dennis croaks, voice hoarse and ghostly.

He’s still curled up in bed. There’s dried blood and dried tear tracks staining his cheeks. His lips are swollen. His eyes are puffy.

Mac shoves his hands in his pockets. “That depends. You wanna talk?”

“About what?”

“Don’t start this shit right now, Dennis. You know what I wanna talk about.”

Dennis sighs, quietly and not dramatically like normal. He squishes his face into the pillows. “I don't wanna talk about it."

“Why not?”

“It’s not like it matters,” Dennis whispers.

Mac’s heart clenches. “It matters to me, Den. It’s always mattered to me.”

“Not like that. I get it; you care. But this isn’t about you, okay?” Mac can tell he’s shaking, that his teeth are chattering, that he’s about to tear through his walls. “I won’t get better. I’m… I… I fucking screwed up. I can’t make anything better, not even myself.”

“What happened in North Dakota?” Mac asks gently. He almost sits on the edge of Dennis’ bed, but he’s afraid Dennis will flinch or jump, and that terrifies him. They used to touch all the time, but now Dennis doesn’t want that, and Mac is still so confused. But Dennis was clear during that whole ‘time’s up’ confrontation; he doesn’t want Mac to touch him. So Mac doesn’t.

Dennis shudders. He chuckles to himself. Mac tries not to imagine what’s under all those blankets Dennis is bundled in. Blood, for one. That’s a given. But he doesn’t want to see the welts or bruises or cuts or scars. He doesn’t want to know what Dennis put himself through while he’s been gone because maybe he feels guilty, or maybe he feels scared, or maybe he has no idea what the fuck to feel because Dennis is in the wrong, but maybe Mac’s wrong too?

“You don’t wanna know,” Dennis says. There’s no emotion in his voice.

Mac bites his bottom lip. “Did you hurt that girl? Your kid?”

Dennis cackles, loudly and vibrantly and scarily. Mac takes a step back. “Nailed it. Good job, bud.”

“Seriously, Dennis, what happened?”

Dennis gestures wildly. It doesn’t make sense. “That happened. I hurt Mandy. I hurt Brian.”

“But h–”

“I flipped out, okay? You’ve seen it before. You know, better than anyone, how I am. What I can do to people,” Dennis says lowly.

“Jesus Christ, Den, did you kill them?”

Dennis frowns. “What? No. Of course not.”

“You sure? ‘Cuz you love those creepy ass crime docs, dude.”

His roommate – former roommate? – inhales sharply. “I had really bad panic attacks while I was away. Way worse than anything I’ve ever experienced here in Philly. It… It felt like my entire universe was suffocating. I was drowning… I-I drank and smoked to cope. Except one time I got too drunk and way too fucking high, and my kid, my son, almost drowned in a fucking lake. A lake, Mac. I don’t do lakes. But it was summer, and the kid was bored, and I was home, and I just figured why fucking not, y’know?” Dennis runs his hands through his hair. “But then I got so tired. I felt sick. I fell asleep in the grass, and Brian… Brian just toddled off. I found him floating face down in the water. I did CPR. I called 911.”

“Holy Christ,” Mac mumbles. He takes a seat in the chair by Dennis’ bed, careful not to get too close. “Is Brian okay?”

Dennis nods. Tears flood outta him like a leaky hose. “Y-Yeah. I thankfully got to him in time, but it was so fucking close. He almost died because I was too fucked up to watch him. I mean, he’s my son, Mac. My own flesh and blood.”

“It was an accident, dude,” Mac says.

“I don’t think so. I don’t think so. I know how I am. I probably did this on purpose.”

“Why would you think that?” Mac asks. “Den, I know you. You’re a terrible piece of shit, but you would never hurt your kid. You just wouldn’t. I know you better than that.”

Dennis rolls his eyes. “You just asked me two minutes ago if I killed them, Mac.”

“I wasn’t being serious,” Mac tells him, looking him straight in the eyes so Dennis knows he means it. “What happened after that?”

“This,” Dennis whispers. “This happened.”

Mac almost responds, almost screams that he loves Dennis no matter who he is or what he did, but he doesn't. He can't. His mouth clamps shut.

Unshed tears and stale memories like a ship in a bottle echo through Mac's ears. He cries and pretends he's twenty-four again, hiding in the comfort of Dennis' arms on the fancy, imported leather couch as if the world wasn't trying to swallow him whole.

Dennis says nothing. Mac sobs himself to sleep on the floor of Dennis' bedroom, knees buried into hardwood boards like he's kneeling before God.


End file.
